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Tracing Lace
I trace my soft mouths
With the tips of my fingers.
Wondering, Questioning,
When will they be kissed.
Will they ever be loved?
I trace my eyes,
With a brown pencil.
I wonder if anyone sees my effort.
Do the fall in love with the color?
Can they tell when they light up?
I trace,
My face.
It's not Barbie perfect.
There are bumps and blemishes.
My glasses are like a speed bump,
For my fingers that easily go over Them.
I'm positively sure I will find out on a day where I trace the lace with my fingertips on a summer day...

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